Songs in Shadow
by Corpulent Mongoose
Summary: One Sith apprentice fights against his feelings of compassion, while another struggles with nihilism. A xenophobic Imperial officer is confronted by the paradox of his own beliefs. A privileged Togruta, now enslaved, is rescued by the people she hates. And behind it all, a Sith Lord plots to take down the Republic from within. A story of the Old Republic.
1. Prelude: Part 1

_**Songs in Shadow**_

**Prelude: Part 1**

This is the first chapter in a long piece set in the Old Republic era. Original characters, original plot. I hope to post a new "episode" every 2 weeks. Hope you enjoy it. :)

I made up the Imperial dating system used here. Years are counted from the end of the Great Hyperspace War, circa 5000 BBY.

**Some say that Sith can never have friends – only allies. Marius has just his fellow apprentice: the volatile Ciaran, who doesn't fit neatly into any categories. But after Ciaran causes the death of an Imperial officer, Marius may have to give up the only comrade he has ever known.**

**3668 BBY**

**Imperial date 1312.11.26**

"Em-four, hold still," the apprentice scolded.

The modified assassin droid stopped squirming and sat upright on the workbench. "They are too tight, my lord," it said in a flat, grating voice. "If you will allow me, I can loosen them to the proper tension." It grabbed one of the bolts on its torso and began to twist.

"No. _No._" Marius grabbed the droid's bulky arm and forced it back down. "If you don't stop twitching, I'll turn you off." He picked up the wrench and waved it threateningly.

HK-M4 remained still, but it didn't stop complaining. "They feel too tight."

Marius kept working without looking up. "The bolts are tightened correctly, but your programming hasn't been updated for the new specifications."

"When will you update my programming?"

"If you show the proper respect, perhaps I will tell you."

Em-four tried again. "_Lord Marius, _when will you update my programming?"

The Red Sith pursed narrow lips. "Soon. It's not easy to integrate the astromech code with your current systems. There are still several glitches…" Marius fell silent.

"My lord?"

"Wait a moment." It was barely a ripple, but it was growing stronger.

_A whisper…a shadow approaching…_

"Is it the Force?"

Marius turned to the droid. "Yes. Something is about to happen. I have to deactivate you." He reached for the machine's artificial jawline.

"No, please no, allow-"

The apprentice curtly flipped a switch, rendering the droid inert. He quickly twisted the remaining bolts, trying to remain mindful of every angle and piece of threaded metal as the Force churned around him.

The shadow crashed into the present moment like a wave. There, in his private workshop aboard the _Golden Vanity, _Marius felt Captain Torru die.

The dark side made all Sith stronger and faster, but only some devotees of the Force were gifted with true extrasensory perception. All three of Darth Salire's apprentices possessed this kind of sixth sense, but each experienced it in a different way. Vyhra described it like a phantom touching her, trying to get her attention by scratching at her skin. Ciaran's abilities involved his sense of smell; Marius had never been able to fully grasp how that worked. His own experiences involved sound. Because of his connection to the Force, he could sometimes hear things happening at the other end of the ship.

This was one of those times. Marius heard the blaster's safety click, heard the muffled shot and the sizzle of cooling flesh. Captain Torru fired a shot into her cranium.

_Damn. I didn't think it would come to this._

The Red Sith furrowed his brow ridges, rapidly fixing a the last bolts to HK-M4's exoskeleton. He returned the power ratchet to its place among the other tools hung on the wall. He folded the heavy droid into a bin and carried it to a high shelf at the back of the room. Some Sith relied upon the Force to manipulate bulky objects, but Marius had spent years developing his raw physical abilities. He liked using them.

With his workshop in order, the apprentice began to pace. The Force would help him sort out his thoughts and emotions. He focused on his feelings, opened his mind, and let the dark side trickle in.

Despite the fact that he had shown little talent for seeing visions while at the Sith Academy on Korriban, Marius had sensed when Captain Torru fired a blaster shot into her cranium as vividly as though she had expired here in his workshop. The vision's clarity was likely because he had been watching Attla Torru, waiting for her to implode in some fashion since the Pampas mission three weeks ago. Ciaran had been playing his games again, but Marius really hadn't expected Torru to suicide. None of Ciaran's previous toys had killed themselves.

_It must end; the Zabrak has taken things too far this time. _

Marius considered the idea as he walked. Ciaran rarely took anything seriously enough, that was true, but Marius had come to appreciate the Zabrak's carefree attitude over the years. It could be refreshing, at least sometimes.

_He is holding you back, _the voice in his head continued.

_But I'm sure it's not intentional._ He was arguing with himself—or was he? This was the danger in allowing the dark side to guide his decisions. The Force made Marius hear things. He assumed that the events creating the sounds in his head were actually occurring somewhere in the universe, but he couldn't be absolutely certain. Could the Force create experiences for him that had no basis in reality?

If the dark side spoke to him, what would it sound like?

Sometimes he wasn't sure whether his thoughts were his own.

He reached the far wall of the distant workshop. He spun on his heel and started back along the same line, clenching his fists and his jaw. As much as he disliked the possibility of losing control over his thoughts and feelings, he wanted the insight that the Force could offer. Obviously, he needed to do something about his fellow apprentice, but none of his options were particularly appealing.

One possibility was to confront the other apprentice again, but Marius didn't think a second discussion would be any more productive than the first. Marius smirked despite his frustration. Ciaran had laughed and said "take the saber hilt out of your ass." No, nagging the Zabrak wouldn't work. Besides, Marius never asked twice for something. Not from anyone.

He could go to Darth Salire. No doubt she would put an end to Ciaran's destructive games, but Ciaran would certainly retaliate against such an egregious betrayal. The two apprentices had known each other since they were younglings. They had gone through the Academy together. Neither had ever thrown the other in front of the proverbial speeder in order to gain prestige there. It had simply never made sense to do so, for Marius at least. The long-term benefits of having a reliable partner had always outweighed any short-term opportunities.

Since being recruited together from the Academy to their positions with Darth Salire, Marius and Ciaran had always worked side-by-side, mission after mission_._

Marius spun about as he reached the other end of his circuit, his heavy black robe whipping around behind him.

Doing nothing was the second option. Ciaran was the closest thing to a friend that Marius would ever have among the Sith. If he were to tell their master about Ciaran's transgressions, he would violate the most important of the unspoken rules that defined his partnership with the Zabrak. Perhaps he shouldn't risk losing such an asset over a few broken officers.

_You're no longer in the Academy. What are the benefits now?_

_I suppose I enjoy his company_. He felt ashamed to admit it. Desire for friendship was a vulnerability, and Sith did not tolerate weakness. But it was important that he understand the truth of his own feelings, even if they disturbed him. Knowledge of the self was a form of power.

His boot squealed against the polished floor as Marius turned.

A true Sith wouldn't allow any relationships he did have to impede his advancement. He and Ciaran had enjoyed an amicable rapport for the past eight years, but his future should not—could not—be chained by the past. And after all, if their alliance did fall apart, wouldn't Ciaran be to blame? Up until the moment he created a game of plunging Imperial officers into pits of disillusionment, hadn't everything been going well?

Perhaps not. Again, seething, Marius forced himself to acknowledge a difficult truth. He was bored with this post. He and Ciaran had been Darth Salire's apprentices for twelve months, and all they had accomplished were a handful of paltry infiltrations and local assassinations. Marius was too talented to waste as a glorified bounty hunter on backwater planets like Pampas. He deserved a command. He was ready for a new challenge.

The dark side whispered. Marius halted mid-stride.

He headed for the exit.

He wanted more power and autonomy, but he wouldn't get either if Ciaran continued demolishing the psyches of people under their shared command. In Darth Salire's eyes, the other apprentice's behavior had probably already tarnished Marius' prized reputation for efficiency and competence.

If their master could get Ciaran back under control so they could continue working together, that would be ideal. But at the very least, Marius' own plans for himself could continue forward. He would not allow his relationship with Ciaran to weaken him.


	2. Prelude: Part 2

**The genesis of friendship among the Sith requires specific conditions. This is how Marius and Ciaran met, several years ago. Takes place several years before ****the previous chapter.**

Note: The BBY date was slightly off in the first chapter. I've fixed them for this story and going forward. Sorry for the discrepancy!

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><p><strong>367<strong>**1**** BBY**

**Imperial date 130****2****.0****3****.****21**

The Pureblood woman's ruby hair was so tightly braided it looked painful, but her voice was cool and relaxed. Bored, even. "Run as fast as you can, from here to the other side of the gymnasium, then back. Ready, and begin."

The young Sith sprinted. He touched the crumbling wall at the far end of the gym, then sprinted back. He quickly caught his breath.

Assessor Price scratched more notes on a datapad. She had already submitted Marius to hours of grueling tests, and not once had she hinted at how well Marius was doing, or how poorly. Just tests for everything, all day. Obstacle courses punctuated by quizzes on math and Sith history. Questions to measure Force sensitivity. Exams for emotional readiness.

Marius loved it.

The Assessor looked up, stylus in hand. "The staff here tell me you perform well in academics — better than most of your peers. Why do you think this is?"

Marius shrugged. "I read more than they do."

Scribbling. "What image is displayed on my datapad?"

"A starship...no. A dreadnaught. _Harrower-_class."

Hours passed, and finally Price made one last mark on the datapad. "Congratulations. You've qualified for the Lower Academy." She sounded half-asleep.

The young Pureblood frowned. "That's it? No more tests?"

"Correct. Clean up, then we'll go to the ship."

"Do I need to bring anything?"

The Assessor began packing equipment into her satchel. "Do you own anything?"

"No."

"Nothing for you to pack, then. They'll give you a uniform at the prep school."

Marius showered and dressed quickly in the communal locker room. He pulled a fresh pair of black trousers and a shirt from the laundry, taking a moment to double-check the sizes since the orphanage stored all clothing in the same tall cabinet. He ran through the hallways, ignoring curious stares from the other Pureblood boys and girls.

Assessor Price waited in the commons area, yawning. She led him to a small ship parked on the drought-stricken lawn.

"Today's my birthday, you know," Marius remarked as he followed Price into the ship.

"That's nice," she responded automatically.

"I can hardly believe I'm getting out of here. It's so sudden."

"Young man," the woman sighed. "You're not going to get a farewell party." She sat in the pilot seat and began flipping switches, preparing hyperspace coordinates to the Horuset system.

"That's not what I meant," Marius tried to say, but the Assessor continued right over his objections.

"You are being given a great opportunity," she lectured, "and in life you'll often you need to abandon your past in order to move forward. "

"I just wanted to thank you. Leaving this place is kind of like a birthday present."

Price didn't hear him. "How old are you?"

"Eleven."

She turned back to the dashboard. "I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye to your friends at the orphanage. It makes it harder for you children to move on, so I always skip farewells with the recruits I bring in. You're young; you'll learn soon enough why it's important to let go."

Marius already understood, of course, but it wasn't worth arguing with the inattentive Assessor. He gave up and simply nodded in mute agreement. Letting go was a lesson Marius learned that lesson years ago, when the pale woman murdered his loving parents and then dumped him at the orphanage.

As the ship rose into the sky, Marius tried to recall memories of his parents - a sound, a smell, an image. Nothing surfaced.

That was a good thing. He was only seven when his parents died. For a while afterwards he tried to hold on to the memories, but grief tore at him like a hurricane thrashes a solitary tree. It nearly destroyed him.

To survive, Marius became the storm; he drowned what he remembered of his parents, killing them a second time. With them died any further desire he had for companionship. That's why Marius had no friends at the orphanage, and had no need for farewells.

The Lower Academy wasn't nearly as cutthroat as the Sith Academy on Korriban that Marius would eventually attend, but the Instructors did encourage a certain level of scheming and competition among the children and encouraged the younglings to form cliques. Many of the galaxy's future warlords would first learn how to wield power on the school grounds, as bullies and gang leaders.

Marius stayed apart, having learned to avoid such intrigues during his years at the orphanage. Getting involved with one group could offer you protection against the others, but it could also make you a target. Instead, he threw himself at his studies and tried to just stay out of it. The others inevitably targeted him, believing that his solitude was a sign of weakness. Marius' response was delicately planned and shockingly violent. After that, they let him be.

The library and the gymnasium were two of the few locations where the gangs held no sway, so that's where Marius spent his time. In the morning before class, he went to exercise, alone. In the afternoon, he went to read, alone. He volunteered in the droid repair shop in the evening, just as something to do. It was his routine for two years.

* * *

><p><strong>3669 BBY<strong>

**Imperial date 1305.08.14**

It was dusk when Marius heard the fight. He ducked behind a tree in the courtyard and resigned himself to waiting. After a long evening at the shop, Marius just wanted to get back to his dormitory. The evening shadows would hopefully conceal him until the scuffle was over.

A wiry Zabrak boy raced into view, followed hotly by two humans — a redheaded boy and a solidly-built blonde girl. "Aww, don't run away," the girl taunted. "You'll just wear yourself out before we've had any real fun. I'm serious. We just want to _talk_."

Marius recognized the humans as followers of Vane Solanus. The Solanus family was one of a few wealthy Sith families that willingly sent their Force-sensitive children into the preparatory school system. Vane liked to make sure everyone knew where she came from, and she had built quite a following. These humans, Descedi and Knortas, were hers.

The boy Knortas dove for the Zabrak's legs, tumbling them both to the stone sidewalk.

"I'm not _running_," the Zabrak asserted, sitting up. "Just re-locating. The scenery is better out here."

Descedi slid to a halt and stood over him. "It doesn't matter where you are, gutter bait. If we want to, we can smash you in the hallways or here in the courtyard. It's all the same to us." She cracked her knuckles.

Knortas pulled himself from the ground. "Just hold on, 'Scedi," he said. "Listen. We told you that the East Wing game center is only for Vane's people. If you were one of us, we wouldn't have to punish you for trespassing."

"I already said that I'm not going to join your stupid gang," the Zabrak responded, springing to his feet. He was a tan-skinned boy with a headful of short horns and no hair. "I'm not going to join yours or anyone else's."

Both Knortas and Descedi seemed genuinely surprised. "Ciaran, you don't get it. The group is for protection," Knortas protested. "You join us, and we'll look after you."

Descedi nodded. "We watch each other's backs, Vane and the rest of us. Without people, you're…vulnerable." She smiled flatly.

Ciaran the Zabrak grunted a single, knowing syllable of a laugh. "Hah. I stick with you and Vane, and in return you guard me from the other goon crews in this place. Also, I instantly become enemies with all your rivals, and I have to do whatever Vane says for the rest of my time here, because no one leaves the group. Is that right?"

The two humans exchanged looks and shrugged. "Sure, there are some tradeoffs," Knortas hedged.

"It was the same way on Ord Mantell. I'm not interested." Ciaran fixed his eyes on Descedi, who rolled her eyes. "Now let me go."

The girl's hand snatched for the Zabrak's poly-fiber shirt, but the latter twisted easily away. He kicked out, his boot crunching painfully against Descedi's hand. "OW!" she roared, and then lunged at the Zabrak. Knortas followed suit.

Ciaran was younger, smaller, and alone, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in ferocity. For every hit the horned boy took, he dished out three at least as hard. It was a good fight.

Marius was glad for that, at least. He didn't care about the outcome of most brawls, but he didn't want to watch this Ciaran get trounced. It took courage to refuse what Knortas and Descedi offered.

_Slap, slap, slap. _A murmur in the Force; Marius heard beings were rapidly approaching along the sidewalk behind him. He sensed they were intent on the fight.

The scuffle continued, fists and feet whipping through the air at speeds that only those attuned to the Force could follow—or avoid. Marius peeked at the three combatants just as Ciaran dealt a nasty blow to Descedi's nose. She stumbled off to the side and clutched at her face. When the two newcomers burst into the courtyard, she called out to them.

"It's about time you showed up!" Descedi sputtered, blood seeping through her fingers. Her new allies consisted of a human boy named Brend, some sort of Rattataki half-breed with gray skin, and Vane Solanus.

The gang's reinforcements made short work of it. Ciaran was on his knees within a minute. The cobblestone tore at his clothes as he struggled, but Knortas and the Rattataki pinned his arms and held him still. Vane, the Pureblood ringleader, leaned over the boy with an expression of distaste. She wore a filigreed tiara nested in her hair.

Marius stood.

"Scedi, what's _this?_" sneered Vane.

The girl spat blood before replying. "This uppity Zabrak is new. He hasn't learned our rules yet." Descedi grabbed Ciaran's ear and leaned in. "Now listen — blast it, _hold him_, Nort!"

The Zabrak had tried to head-butt her. The boys wrestled him back. "Don't call me that," Knortas muttered.

Slowly, Marius stepped from behind the tree.

"Let's try again," Descedi began, but Vane interrupted her.

"Shh. I'll handle this," Vane said. She knelt to Ciaran's level. "You're new here, Zabrak. But you have to learn quickly, and I can help you with that. At this place, the first rule is—"

The Force carried Marius across the courtyard and into the back of Vane's head, knocking her out instantly. He followed up with a turning side kick, connecting solidly with Knortas' diaphragm. The boy doubled over, his face green.

The dark side sang joyously in his mind. Marius planted his foot and cracked out with his other leg, the round kick snapping against the half-breed's knee. The boy crumpled. Marius whipped around to confront Descedi, but the sour-faced girl had already taken flight. He saw her sprint into a distant residence hall.

Marius looked down at Vane's motionless form. "Watch your back. That's the first rule." He turned to see Ciaran nonchalantly dusting himself off. Marius spoke without thinking. "We have to get out of here. Are you all right?"

The Zabrak eyed him suspiciously. "We?"

Marius shrugged. He hadn't meant to say it anyway. He began to walk towards his dormitory.

"Wait — wait," said the Zabrak, coughing slightly. He wore the same clothes as all the other students: the black polyfiber t-shirt, gray cargo pants, training boots. Notably absent were the jewelry and accessories worn by students like Vane, whose families who could afford gifts.

Ciaran jogged to Marius' side. "That was impressive. That Descedi girl seemed terrified of you."

Marius smiled. "She thinks I'm going to set fire to her dorm room."

"Are you?"

"I've done it to others."

Ciaran nodded. The doors to the building slid open. "Why did you help me?"

After a pause, Marius answered. "I heard you mention Ord Mantell."

"Yeah."

"What's it like there?"

"It's a shit hole. I hear the ports are nice, but I never saw them. At least not the nice parts."

"Vane's family is an old Pureblood legacy. Everything gets handed to her. Not so for us." Marius paused at the bottom of a grand staircase, looking up. The steps seemed to go on forever.

The Zabrak stopped next to him. "I'm Ciaran," he said, extending his hand. "Friends?"

Marius looked from Ciaran's tanned face to the offered palm. He shook it. "Marius," he responded. "Allies."


	3. Prelude: Part 3

**Summary:**

What happened on Pampas. Occurs 3 weeks before the events of Chapter 1.

**Notes:**

Writing about the Sith provides so many opportunities to contemplate the nature of evil. I hope to explore many sides of that issue throughout the series, but one thing I think that all 'evil' characters (and people) have in common is the tendency to find delight in the suffering of others.

Note that I changed the BBY dates on this and the previous chapters - I goofed it the first time I posted.

* * *

><p><strong>366<strong>**1**** BBY**

**Imperial date 1312.11.05**

**(3 weeks before Chapter 1)**

"Like the others, this one wasn't very forthcoming with information about our target," Ciaran said to Captain Torru, rising from the suffering man and turning to face them. "No matter, I suppose. I saw on the monitor that Marius already located Zarrato and his family. I can only assume that he's already executed Zarrato and taken his wife and daughter back to the ship." He adjusted one of his bandoliers. "He really ought to slow down and enjoy himself more during these missions. A life without fun does strange things to a person."

Both officers were silent, their faces illuminated in glow of the monitoring screens.

Noting their ashen expressions, Ciaran continued in a cheerful tone. "Sergeant Daws was very helpful during the interrogation, though I can sense he now has some regrets in being my assistant. You shouldn't doubt yourself, Sergeant. All of this helps protect our beloved Empire."

The two humans remained motionless as Ciaran again crouched over the man in the center of the floor. "Pulse is still strong. It's quite amazing, the how long a body can last after being sliced by a lightsaber. Hours, sometimes days."

The man wore a blue uniform and an ID badge that read POL CHEN, SECURITY. Ciaran's role in the assault had been to infiltrate the compound and disable the security systems, while Marius held the guards' attention at the front gate. It hadn't been a challenge for the Zabrak to breach the central security hub, despite the monstrous droids that had guarded the room. Once inside, Ciaran had found only a handful of personnel. He had preserved Mr. Chen to use as a prop in this gory theatre for the Captain.

Both of the man's legs were gone, sliced off piece by piece by Ciaran's sabers during the last thirty minutes. The room was nevertheless quite clean. Lightsabers and blasters didn't shed blood.

Ciaran leaned in and examined the man's face. Chen's eyes were closed, but there were tears, the slow kind. Ciaran remembered slow, despairing tears. He also remembered fast tears, full of hot grief and anger. But it had been thirteen years since Ciaran last wept for anything. He reached out and brushed at Chen's face, but his leather gloves were treated against moisture. The beads of liquid fell away.

"I think you should go, Daws," Torru quietly said to the man standing next to her. Sergeant Daws made no objection. He exited the room as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

The tattooed Zabrak reached out with the Force and peered into Torru's mind, inhaling and savoring the turmoil within. She and her loyal sergeant friend had seen incredible violence during their time in service, and they had committed horrific acts. That's what war required, they told themselves. Sacrifices had to be made in order to preserve the security of the general populace. You have to bend the laws of decency against your enemies so thatcivilians, including your family and friends, could enjoy those laws back home. But you weren't supposed to bend those rules when you didn't have to.

Torru believed in these ideas down to her core, and so did many others in the Empire.

Ciaran's antics with the prisoner certainly didn't fit with in that paradigm of morality, but crushing others' naïve illusions was his newest game. There was no place in the Sith Empire for the laws of decency. The Sith followed the laws of nature. _Might makes right. Eat or be eaten_.

Captain Torru would not want to face this truth, but Ciaran had a plan.

Color rose to the Captain's cheeks. _Anger, though, not embarrassment, _the Force told him. "I'm just confused," Torru lied. "What's the purpose of all this?" She indicated the man on the floor, though she kept her eyes averted. "Why keep him alive? We've completed our mission. Why not put him out of his misery? Are you trying to learn something? Because I don't think all _this_ is an effective form of interrogation."

Ciaran shrugged and rose from the floor. "Oh, I was simply bored. I don't need to explain myself to you."

"Of course not, Lord Ciaran, but…" Torru trailed off.

"…but you feel I should at least be able to explain how my actions benefit the Empire." He chuckled. "Captain Torru, I enjoy officers like you. You have so much passion for the system, such as it is."

Taking up a place in the doorway, the apprentice tapped a gloved finger against his blackened lower lip. "As we assaulted the compound, I could feel the sense of purpose behind your actions—something you have instilled in the soldiers you command. You feel _good_ coming here to the Outer Rim, hunting brigands. For you, the Empire offers an orderly existence to those who have known nothing but chaos." Ciaran cocked his blackened head. "Isn't that what you believe?"

"My grandfather," she explained, "he came from the Rim. He always told me that his life was empty before he joined the Sith Empire." She raised her chin proudly. "He said it gave his life direction, making the galaxy a more lawful place."

"The purpose of the Sith Empire is not to civilize the unwashed masses of the galaxy, Captain Torru."

"I know, my lord—its purpose is to carry out the will of the Sith Emperor," she responded in a rush. "But so many people have found a better life within the Empire. Those lives aren't just an unintended byproduct of our expansion. They can't be."

He shrugged, enjoying the exchange. "The Emperor probably wants to dominate the galaxy, like most Sith Lords do."

"But why?"

"Because it feels good."

Captain Torru stared at him blankly.

"I'll show you. Hold out your hand," Ciaran directed. Of course Torru wouldn't resist. Her curiosity and faith would overcome her confusion and apprehension.

The game was playing out exactly as he intended.

Torru held out her right hand, still wearing a pale plasteel gauntlet. "No, without the armor."

The Captain obediently removed her gloves, undoing the clasps and removing the fabric liner with the help of her teeth. After flexing her fingers a few times, she again held out her right hand. Ciaran swiftly placed one of his lightsabers into her grasp, and Torru nearly dropped the weapon on the floor.

"I—no," she stammered, holding the object at arm's length. "It isn't allowed. I shouldn't be -"

"I allow it," Ciaran responded firmly. "I made it, I learned how to use it, and I decide who holds it. Now," he steadied her wrist and rotated the hilt with his other hand. He was still wearing his gloves. "Here is the switch. The blade appears here. Don't get the ends confused." He stepped back. "Go ahead. Ignite it."

Torru grasped the blade with her other hand, carefully pointing the weapon towards the ceiling. She pressed her thumb against the switch, and a glowing red beam hissed to life. "It vibrates a little bit." She looked at the man on the floor, then back to Ciaran. "You want me to kill him with the lightsaber, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Why him?"

"Why any of them? We've both killed many security guards today."

"But this is different."

"Is it?"

Torru exhaled, lowering the saber and glancing around the room. Her eyes settled on the dark pile of bodies, stacked to the side. "Will it help me understand what you said about the Emperor?"

"I think so." Perfect.

She nodded decisively and leaned over the man, raising the weapon. Pol Chen closed his eyes as the lightsaber descended.


	4. Prelude: Part 4

**Summary:**

Shortly after Captain Torru's suicide, Marius meets with his master, Darth Salire.

**Notes:**

And after our short detour into the past, we're back in the present day.

Sorry for the slow update schedule, folks - not only is it the holiday season here in the US, but I'm also working 50-60 hours per week. My idea of a perfect retirement is to do nothing but write fanfiction, read, and play video games, but alas, I'm about 40 years away from realizing that dream. :/

I'll get back to adding a new chapter at least every two weeks. Thanks for sticking with Marius and me!

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><p><strong>366<strong>**1**** BBY**

**Imperial date 1312.11.26**

**Present Day**

Most Imperial ships were full of humans, near-humans, and droids, buzzing with activity like a hive of Pembrican hornets. By contrast, this level of the _Golden Vanity_ was practically empty. Nearly all of this deck was reserved for Salire's three apprentices. It also was home to the many aides and slaves serving Vyrha, Salire's human apprentice. Marius didn't have an entourage. Yet.

His combat boots thudded heavily against the white terrazzo floors of the_ Vanity _and echoed off its bare walls. He wore traditional apprentice's garb: robe, gauntlets, a tunic fitted comfortably over body armor, everything black. At two meters tall and over one-hundred-twenty kilos, the people on the_ Vanity _probably would have avoided Marius simply based on his imposing size, had he not been a Sith.

As a youngling, his half-human parentage had been obvious, and the other children at the Sith orphanage had occasionally taunted him for his appearance. In the years after Assessor Price took him away from there, Marius had grown into a formidable member of the Sith species in its current form, and this gave him great satisfaction. Today Marius wore his hood back, revealing his short black hair and blood-red skin. A ridge of short bone spurs framed his yellow eyes instead of the hairy brows sported by humans. Two short tendrils hung from the sides of his jaw.

Even if he had remained more human than Pureblood in appearance, what would it have mattered? Most of those children were probably dead, casualties of the Academy's harsh methods of instruction, or sacrifices to the ongoing war against the Republic. By contrast, Marius was thriving. He was a Sith warrior, tall and strong from two decades of training.

Marius encountered no one as he walked to the nearest elevator bay. It was a bit disappointing. He liked to observe the effect he had on people.

He stepped into the lift, admiring the smattering of stars visible through the transparent walls. The starscape didn't move, even as Marius felt the floor shift beneath him. He could see the interior of the ship zipping past as the elevator car descended. Marius had a great appreciation for the ship's design. Transparent walls in a turbolift were expensive, but Salire had created the _Golden Vanity_ to impress.

It was more aesthetically pleasing than most ships in the Sith Empire. An elite firm on Drommund Kaas had designed the cruiser's visage to resemble an albosca shark from Salire's world of origin, an obscure ocean moon. This piscean design gave the ship its unusual vertical orientation. While most cruisers were long and flat, like torpedoes, the _Vanity_ housed all its inhabitants, spacecraft, and cargo in huge dorsal and ventral "fins".

Most large ships were horizontal because Sith Purebloods and other bipedal species had the misplaced instinct to make all ships aerodynamic, but some impracticalities also discouraged vertical spacecraft—namely, the need for expensive elevators to move crew members and supplies away from the center of the ship's artificial gravity generator. However, the _Vanity_ was not intended to serve merely as a mobile base for interstellar operations. It was the flagship of Salire's personal fleet, built to intimidate enemies, amaze allies, crush opponents and galvanize her followers. No expenses were spared. The _Vanity _had transparent elevators.

The lift door opened and Marius stepped into a sweeping reception area.

The rest of the _Vanity _was dominated by elegant gray and white decor, but Salire's personal chambers aboard the ship were soaked in deep blues and the occasional vivid turquoise accent piece. Like the exterior of the ship, it was designed to evoke the aesthetic of the ocean that covered much of the Sith Lord's home world. The vast room seemed both peaceful and ominous. A huge chandelier of pearly white glass, shaped to resemble the rays of a pale sun, hung from the ceiling far above.

A single large desk of brushed steel, staffed by a trio of Twi'lek slaves, was the centerpiece of the room. The colorful aliens greeted visitors and escorted them to their proper location. Elsewhere in the Empire, slaves were powerless, subservient to even the lowliest indentured servant. Not so in this room. Everyone who wanted to see the Darth had to go through the Twi'leks, from the newest sub-lieutenant to the other Sith Lords who occasionally visited. That included Salire's own apprentices.

Marius hated being addressed and ordered about by aliens, which of course was the aim of the whole procedure. The Twi'lek receptionists were a means for Salire to flaunt her power. Marius begrudgingly admired the tactic.

The apprentice frowned and approached the desk, demanding the attention of a thin, violet-hued male. "I wish to see Darth Salire. Immediately."

"Yes, Lord Marius," the male responded respectfully. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," he growled. "It is urgent."

"Of course, my lord." The slave delicately pressed a few buttons on a tactile holograph display. Marius glared down at the man. Someday—hopefully soon—he would have his own ship, and maybe his own slaves. If he did ever have any aliens aboard his ship, they would have to do more than sit at a desk and waylay important visitors.

"Well?" Marius pressed after a few moments.

The violet Twi'lek was unfazed by the Sith's verbal aggression. "Her lordship Darth Salire is currently with another caller," he paused briefly and checked the readout. His eyes widened slightly. "But…it seems she is expecting you. She desires that you see her without delay."

"Who is with her now?"

"I am not at liberty to provide such information. If you'll come with me, Lord Marius." The Twi'lek grabbed a datapad from behind the desk and gestured to an elevator directly behind the desk.

"I know my way," Marius said, stepping towards the arched staircase in the back of the room. The slave insisted on accompanying him, but he almost had to jog to keep up with the taller man's powerful strides. Marius took the wide steps two at a time.

If the main decks of the _Vanity _were impressive, Salire's private floors were palatial. The hallways twisted and curved, unlike the straight and uniform corridors in the rest of the ship_. _The walls were transparent, but could be made opaque at the touch of a button. The apprentice and the Twi'lek slaved walked past meditation chambers of varying sizes and designs, followed by saunas and massage parlors, a swimming pool which doubled as a giant aquarium, and a communications center that was so powerful it had its own dedicated energy source.

There was even a large gymnasium built to withstand Salire's combat training sessions. Ciaran had once said that it was constructed from a chamber originally designed to test thermal detonators. Marius doubted the veracity of that particular rumor, but he had no doubt that the dark hallways through which he and the Twi'lek slave now walked held many intimidating secrets.

"That is all," Marius said when the hall terminated at a nondescript door. The slave bowed respectfully and began walking back the way they had come. The Twi'lek paused at a distant corner to cast one curious glance back in the apprentice's direction, but Marius was too preoccupied to notice.

The apprentice stepped into a dark room with a domed ceiling of moderate height. It was softly lit with dozens of cone-shaped light fixtures along the walls. Ghostly blue planets rotated across a huge holotable, displaying the _Vanity_'s trajectory through the local solar system. The room was impressive, but in a functional sense; it was nowhere near as lavish as the reception hall. Marius could feel comfortable in such a space, if it weren't for the main occupant.

"I am here, Marius," his master's voice rang, cold and sharp as ice.

Darth Salire sat on a simple leather hoverchair on a dais at the opposite end of the room, one hand resting casually on an armrest, the other holding a datapad up for her to scrutinize. She seemed relaxed, but so did a sleeping tuk'ata hound. Marius had learned to avoid making assumptions about his master's state of mind.

He needed to be careful. Salire might agree to intervene with Ciaran, but she could also view the whole issue as a complete waste of her time. That would go badly for Marius. Though he valued his master's teachings and the prestige that came with being her apprentice, he didn't trust Salire. History proved that Sith Lords could be manipulative and specious, especially with their apprentices.

Marius glanced around for the other being that the Twi'lek had mentioned, but he saw no one. He approached the dais and kneeled before the Sith Lord.

"Master," he said reverently. Focusing inward, he recalled the emotions he felt in his workshop minutes ago, and the dark side again filled him with confidence. He was doing the right thing.

He glanced up. The skintight black pullover mask Salire wore revealed only that she possessed all the usual features—nose, eyes, ears—but nothing of greater detail. He had always wondered if the mask allowed Salire unrestricted vision, or if she was so powerful in the Force that she no longer required to see in the traditional sense. She perceived him regardless, her expression unreadable.

"Apprentice," she replied in an equally impenetrable tone. Salire set the datapad down on a side table and folded her gloved hands in her lap. "Something troubles you. Speak."

"It's Ciaran, Master," Marius replied. "His, ah, extracurricular activities with the officers have gone too far. He's costing us resources."

Salire remained motionless. "I see. Can you provide an example?"

"Captain Attla Torru. She was captain of the 203rd, the assault platoon that accompanied us on the mission to Pampas three weeks ago. Ciaran did something to her while we were there, abused her in some way, and she has been floundering since. She killed herself just thirty minutes ago."

"And why should I care about the death of a single officer?"

Apprehension shot through him, but after a breath's hesitation, Marius realized Salire wasn't being sarcastic. She was testing him. "She was a good leader, Master," he continued to explain. "I looked up the platoon's casualty rates. Her soldiers performed well above average. There's a ninety percent chance that the platoon will be less effective under her replacement."

"Very well," Salire said crisply. "Yet Attla Torru is not the first officer that Ciaran has abused in such a manner. Why are you only now voicing concern about your fellow apprentice?"

Marius frowned, his sense of conviction wavering. "You knew of his actions?"

"Of course I did," his master chided casually, dismissing his question with an elegant flick of her hand. "This should not surprise you, apprentice. Knowledge is a Sith Lord's business. You should assume I am aware of everything that happens aboard this ship." She steepled her fingers and cocked her head slightly to one side. "I can _sense_ your resentment, Marius. Answer my question."

Marius nodded. This was starting to feel like trap. He was angry at being manipulated, but instead of smothering the feeling, he used it to bolster his confidence. If Salire was manipulating him, he would find out why.

"When I was in the Academy, I would have dismissed the death of a single officer without a thought. But now, I am aboard your ship, and I work closely with the Imperial military. I have come to believe that the needless loss of one effective officer can have wider consequences."

"Like my droidmaking tools," Marius continued. "If I were to treat them carelessly, they would wear down faster, and replacing them would be expensive. The military personnel are the tools of the our Empire. We need every advantage we can get against the Republic, and I doubt the Jedi are killing off their own officers for entertainment." He flexed his fists against the floor for emphasis, looking directly at his master. "Ciaran's actions weaken the Empire_._"

"Good." Darth Salire stood from the hoverchair and walked towards the window, folding her gloved hands behind her back. "Rise."

Marius stood from his kneeling position on the floor and walked to his master's side. He towered over the diminutive Sith Lord. Salire couldn't have stood more than a meter and a half tall, but physical stature didn't dictate the amount of skill one possessed with the Force. She was dangerous, and Marius didn't know how far he could push her, but he wanted answers. "Master," the apprentice asked boldly, "what is all of this about?"

"I have been aware of Ciaran's exploits for some time," Salire responded. "I used them as an opportunity to catalyze your ambition."

Marius was taken aback. "My ambition? Have I not successfully completed every mission you've set before me?"

"That was the exact problem," Salire responded. "Your execution was flawless, every time. The missions didn't challenge you or test your abilities. You are capable of much more than the tasks I've put before you."

Resentment again rippled through the Force. "I know," Marius growled.

"Yet you did nothing about it for months. You feel trapped in your current role," Salire continued. "You yearn for a command of your own, but until today, you have done nothing to _seize _this desire of yours."

He spoke without thinking. "I trusted you would put my abilities to good use." It sounded much more sullen than he had intended.

His master went quiet for several seconds. The featureless stare of her black mask unnerved him, and when she did speak to Marius again, her tone was sharp and biting. "Trust no one with your hopes and dreams but yourself, apprentice. A true Sith creates her own opportunities." She spread her hands, indicating the powerful cruiser in which they travelled.

Marius nodded, feeling like he dodged a blaster shot. "Yes, Master."

Salire stared at him for a while, tension reverberating in the Force during the pregnant silence. Then she abruptly turned and walked back to her hoverchair. "A desire to accomplish something meaningful with your existence. The drive to grow and expand your skills. These things are ambition, and my plans have no room for an apprentice who is limited in this. Fortunately, you have potential."

She turned gracefully and sat. "Ciaran's actions were indeed harmful to the Empire, and he was holding you back. But you have been his partner for many years. I needed to know which you valued more: your friendship with him, or your ambitions as a Sith. Today you gave me your answer, so I am giving you what you want. A ship, and a sub-lieutenant named Delos Kayd, will be placed under your command. You'll be going on an extended mission to the Hutt territories."

Marius prickled with excitement and pride. "Thank you, Master. What is the objective?"

"Your first engagement is at the resort tower of Jurda the Hutt on Nar Shaddaa. His cartel has been very successful in slaves and spice, but he's looking to diversify his operation. Jurda is hosting a week-long festival of sorts to court and assess new partners. You'll be my representative."

"Excellent." Technically it was a non-combat mission, which was not his specialty. But Nar Shaddaa was a planet full of gangsters and varied rabble. Marius suspected that he and Sub-Lieutenant Kayd would see their fair share of fighting on the Hutt world. "I do have one more question."

Salire nodded.

"What will happen to Ciaran?"

He could feel the chill of his master's disapproval. "You are too attached to this Zabrak."

"I just…I want to know if he'll be joining me on Nar Shadaa."

"Do you want him to?"

Marius examined his feelings. "No," he finally said. He felt surprised by the answer he gave, but it was the truth. He was learning so much about himself today. "I want to succeed on my own this time. And yet, I feel like I _should_ want Ciaran to come with us."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate your loyalty," Salire said dryly. "Ciaran's ambitions are of a different nature than yours, and I have other plans for him. He won't be accompanying you."

Darth Salire picked up the datapad again, a clear gesture of dismissal. Marius spoke anyway. "Are you going to punish him for killing Torru?"

Salire slapped the datapad down on her lap. "I am not a holocron to be queried with endless questions, apprentice," she snapped. "Ciaran toyed with the officers because he was bored, and because I allowed it. I can almost guarantee that he'll never be bored again. I'll be putting him to good use."

Marius sensed the distinct impression of a smiling face—flaming silver eyes, pale lips curved in malicious delight. The image flashed through the Force and was gone.

"Besides," Salire continued. "Your Zabrak friend traumatized Captain Torru, but not enough so that she'd kill herself. That was me. I pushed her over the edge."

Marius blinked. Manipulative and specious, he thought again.

"Your first engagement is scheduled in ten days. You will receive further instructions when you return to your chambers. Go, Marius." Darth Salire returned to the datapad, spinning the hoverchair so that her back was turned to him.


	5. Prelude: Part 5

**Summary:**

Ciaran doesn't deal with rejection very well.

Note that this chapter has profanity and some sexual themes, because Ciaran is not a nice guy.

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><p><strong>366<strong>**1**** BBY**

**Imperial date 1312.11.26**

Pounding at the door wrenched Ciaran from a troubled sleep. He blinked in the dark, catching the scent of Marius' Force-signature. The Red Sith was waiting in the hallway.

"Hells." He sat up reluctantly and pushed at the Theelin slave girl who lay curled next to him. She was buried somewhere under a pile of blankets. Ciaran had reserved the rare alien for a few days to help pass the time before his departure, since Marius had abandoned him for his own preparations. Of course the kriffing traitor would show up some time before he left. Marius hated loose ends.

More pounding, and a muffled voice. "JUST WAIT." Ciaran emphasized his words by shoving his feelings of irritation at his fellow apprentice. He sensed Marius' stinging response through the Force a moment later. Apparently the snotty Pureblood was also vexed.

Ciaran's outburst jolted the Theelin girl awake. "Get _up_," Ciaran pushed at her again. "Go get the door."

"Yes, my lord," she replied automatically, her flutelike voice hoarse from sleep. She stumbled from the bed and rubbed her eyes, walking to the door in her underclothes. Maybe she was too hungover to care about covering herself, or maybe lack of physical modesty was simply a feature of the Theelin species. They were supposed to be very artistic.

Ciaran couldn't speak to the girl's talents except for in one particular area. The slave keepers aboard the _Vanity_ trained their stock well.

Ciaran sprung out of bed and picked his way across the floor, which was littered with clothing and the discarded artifacts of a night's entertainment. He snatched his robes and lightsaber from a hook on the wall and bounced into his trousers. In the common room of his chambers, a wall-mounted holograph display still projected GAME OVER into the air. Ciaran switched off the device and stalked over to the kitchenette, dressing as he went.

The girl reached the door at the opposite end of the chamber. She pressed a button on the access panel, and the portal quietly slid open. There Marius stood, his imposing height framed by a bright artificial glow from the corridor. The Sith gave the scantily-clad female a skeptical look which quickly curdled into disgust. Like most Purebloods, Marius openly reviled aliens, and Theelin were undeniably aliens. Ciaran's girl sported mottled purple skin, orange hair, and scaly hoof-like feet. The slave didn't react to the Sith's naked revulsion, though, and wisely kept her eyes fixed to the floor.

"Marius," Ciaran said gruffly, his back at the door. He filled a glass with water from an alcove in the wall. "She's my new toy. Her name is—fuck it, I can't remember. It doesn't matter. If you've come to join in the fun, you should know that I don't feel like sharing."

Marius ignored the jibe and stepped bodily through the door, nearly flattening the slave girl in the process. He surveyed the dimly lit room and sighed when he spotted Ciaran. "You didn't respond to my messages, so I had to come down here myself," he complained. "We haven't sparred in over a week, and I ship out to Hutt space tomorrow. I feel out of practice. I want to fit in a session before I leave."

Ciaran's glass was full. He turned from the wall and walked over to where his partner—former partner—waited in the entryway.

Marius obviously felt guilty for informing on him to Darth Salire; the Sith hadn't spoken the words, but he didn't need to. The Pureblood had never been very good at hiding his emotions from Ciaran. He wasn't out of practice; sparring was just a flimsy excuse for a visit to the comrade he betrayed. It certainly wasn't the apology that Ciaran deserved. Yet despite the history that he and Marius shared, it was all Ciaran could probably expect. Those who followed the Sith Code weren't supposed to apologize for being selfish, and Marius was too dogmatic to ask for forgiveness.

To the hells with dogma. If Marius wasn't going to admit his mistakes, then Ciaran wouldn't absolve them. "Get someone else," he snapped.

Marius persevered. "There is no one else. You know that Vyhra won't spar with me. You don't seriously expect me to practice against the droids, do you?"

"You'll have to get used to it. There won't be any practice buddies for you out on the Rim." He slammed the rest of the water down his throat and motioned to the Theelin slave. "I have a headache. Get me another."

The girl walked over and gracefully took the empty glass from Ciaran, her long fingers lingering for a moment on the Zabrak's tattooed black and red skin. Marius fixed Ciaran with a disapproving look. "Late night, I take it?"

"Don't judge me," Ciaran retorted. "You don't get to criticize me anymore, not after what you did. Snitching on me to Salire? You betrayed me, Marius."

"What choice did I have? I asked you to stop your stupid mind games, and you laughed in my face." Marius gestured with a gloved hand at the Theelin girl, returning with another full glass of water for Ciaran. "We have an unlimited supply of _that _on this ship_._ Why did you have to start harassing our _own officers_?"

"Slaves don't have any personality. They get dull quickly," Ciaran argued, taking the glass from the girl. She shuffled away quickly and stood in the doorway to the bedroom. "I was going out of my mind, stuck on this ship day after day, only leaving for these quick hit-and-run missions. It was so boring. I had to do something."

"I think traumatizing those officers undermined every bit of progress we were making with the Darth."

"All you care about now is your damned career," Ciaran spat. "A year ago you wouldn't have bothered if I messed up an officer or two. Hell, you probably would have joined in. Do you remember what we did to those human twins? They were so fucked up they had to leave the Academy."

Marius crossed his arms, his expression resolute. "That's the point, Ciaran. We're not at the Academy. The officers and soldiers aren't our competition; they're our assets. We're weaker without them."

Ciaran's face went blank. "I could not have heard you correctly," he said coldly. "You spent every moment of the past five years trying to become as self-sufficient as possible. You don't need the soldiers, or the officers." _Or me._

Marius leaned forward, pointing a gloved finger. "I'll say the same thing I told Salire. To win this war against the Republic, we need to leverage all possible advantages. Do you think the Jedi are killing off their experienced officers?"

"So you've turned into a bleeding patriot."

Marius sighed and rubbed at his brow spikes, searching for the right phrasing. "Call it what you want," he said at last, shrugging. "Life moves on, and you move forward with it—if you stand still, you're dead. That was true at the Academy, and it's doubly true now. Right now, the way forward is helping the war effort."

_Still no apology. _It took Ciaran a while to respond. "I didn't intend for Captain Torru to kill herself," he finally said, his tone cooler. "That wasn't what I wanted."

"I know."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Ciaran continued. "Salire's sending us both out on assignment. Next week I'll begin a series of covert ops. It'll take months. I won't have time for games." He leaned his back against the wall, feeling suddenly defeated. _There is no peace, _he thought. The Pureblood was right; life was moving on again. Marius had chosen to chase power and glory, abandoning Ciaran to be Darth Salire's errand boy.

Marius nodded. "The Darth mentioned she was sending you out on a separate mission. Listen, Ciaran." He ran a hand through his short black hair. "Do you understand that Salire set all this in motion? She allowed you to abuse the officers, knowing that I'd eventually get involved. And she broke Torru's mind," he added. "Whatever you did to the Captain on Pampas, it wasn't bad enough to prompt her into suicide. That was our master's doing."

_Interesting._ Ciaran pursed his tattooed lips. "Why go through all that trouble? Why not just send us out on new missions and be done with it?"

"I suppose she wanted to separate us," Marius offered. "Maybe it's for the best. We've worked together for a long time, but it couldn't continue forever."

It was a diplomatic response. Salire might have placed the wedge between them, but it was Marius who wielded the hammer. Despite all of the other man's explanations, Ciaran still smarted from the blow.

Marius had decided that his standing with Salire was more important than his partnership with Ciaran, though he'd never admit something like that out loud. In the years that Ciaran had known him, Marius had never been cruel—only ruthless.

Ciaran, however, was often cruel.

The Zabrak slapped the wall. The Theelin girl yelped, startled by the noise. He grinned fiercely at her. "So," he said decisively, turning to Marius. "We've got limited time. Are you still interested in that sparring session?"

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

If you've read this far, thank you! You are awesome; I wish you much happiness, and also superpowers.

I have the first three chapters of the next story arc queued up. I'm excited to keep this story going. Writing is hard work, but damn, guys, it's fun.

The musical inspiration for this story arc was Bach's "Prelude" from _Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major_. There's subtle power and tension to it that builds, especially as the piece ends. I was hoping to capture a little bit of that essence in this first arc.


	6. Introitus

It's Sub-lieutenant Delos Kayd's first day on the job with his new commander, a Sith apprentice with a chilly disposition.

Note: Thank you for the follows and the reviews! You make me very happy! :)

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><p><strong>366<strong>**1**** BBY**

**Imperial date 1312.11.28**

Delos Kayd checked the hyperdrive readouts for the third time, then glanced at the caravel ship's front view port.

The glass panel reflected his rich umber complexion and the shine of his tightly coiled hair. It also caught the glint of a freshly-minted sub-lieutenant's insignia pinned to the collar of his uniform. He usually wouldn't hesitate to admire himself in a chance reflection. Maybe it was a little conceited, but it was a minor vice. Besides, one only had to ride the _Vanity's _elevators a few times to see officers of every rank preening in front of the transparent walls. It's like they thought that once the doors closed, no one could see them.

This situation was different. Kayd wasn't alone on the bridge.

Marius hadn't moved for the last hour. The Sith still occupied the captain's chair in the center of the caravel's small bridge, leaning heavily on an armrest. He was intently focused on the datapad he held in front of him. One hand massaged a dark bruise along the side of his face.

Delos cleared his throat. "So, have you ever been to Nar Shaddaa, Lord Marius?"

The apprentice responded in a bone-dry tenor. His eyes remained fixed on the datapad. "Once, for a short time during the Academy. Why?"

"Just wondering if you had any ideas about the place, beyond what's mentioned in the file from Imperial Intelligence."

"Does the file explain that it's an overpopulated Hutt-controlled world filled with aliens and criminals?"

"Well, yes."

"Then I don't have anything to add."

"Ah," Delos responded.

The silence resumed.

_I am poffing the hell out of this,_ thought the sub-lieutenant. Serving on a Sith's personal attaché was a prestigious assignment. He wanted to excel. When Delos shared the news of his promotion with his family over the HoloNet, his father, Captain Janus Kayd, made sure to impress upon him its importance. "This kind of post can make your career!" The Captain proudly declared. "Or it could ruin you entirely. But you're my son; I know you won't muck it up. It's a great opportunity. Serving a Sith will challenge you in ways you never dreamed of."

The Captain knew what he was talking about. He represented four generations of military service: his father, grandfather, and great-grandmother had all been officers of the Sith Empire. Of Delos' five siblings, four were in public service. There was a lot to live up to in the Kayd family.

Sometimes that felt hopeless. Like now, when he was struggling to figure out the simplest part of his new role. _How am I supposed to serve this man well when I don't know anything about him?_

Marius' dossier described his formidable combat experience and listed his age. Kayd, himself in his early thirties, was surprised to learn that Marius was several years his junior. The Pureblood didn't seem to carry himself like a younger man, but it was far too early to know anything certain about his personality. It could take months to get the true measure of a person. The sub-lieutenant had only spent a very uncomfortable hour in the apprentice's service.

Little else was revealed in the dossier. There was nothing about the Sith's personal interests, his childhood, family, nor enemies. Apparently Kayd's new commander – no, his new _lord_ – liked to keep to himself.

Marius may have once been friends with the Zabrak apprentice, Ciaran. But gossipers on the _Golden Vanity_ said that the two Sith had a violent falling out that left an utter mess in Cargo Bay C. The bruise on Marius' jawline seemed to support that theory of events, but it didn't seem a wise thing to ask about it.

_Maybe he likes sports? _

The transit to Nar Shaddaa would take eight more hours under current hyperspace conditions. Delos checked the courier's hyperdrive readouts a fourth time. All systems were still fine, of course.

Eight long, boring hours.

Kayd glanced a bit desperately at the reflection in the view screen. "Would you care to listen to some music, sir?"

Marius looked up sharply from the datapad. "Sub-lieutenant," he rumbled. "Turn around."

Wincing, Delos swiveled his seat until he was facing the Sith. "Yes, my lord."

Marius leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Delos swore he felt the tiny cockpit shrink even further. "You have never served a Sith before me, have you?"

"Right. Not in such a...permanent capacity."

"And I have never had a steady crew before. Not even a crew of one." Marius leaned back and tapped the datapad against the armrest. Delos breathed a little easier.

"Eventually I would like for us to get to a point where I don't always have to tell you what to do," the apprentice continued after a moment, "so during these first few weeks under my command, you'll need to be attentive to learn my preferences."

There was really only one way to respond to that. "Yes, my lord."

"If you do something wrong, I will tell you how to do it correctly, and then you'll fix it." Marius smiled flatly. "I won't punish you unfairly. After all, you're not a slave. "

Delos struggled with a flare of indignance. "Thank you, Lord Marius." _So __the fledgling apprentice__ treats you like a house servant and not like an officer. Get over it. It could be much worse._

"I consider it a fair arrangement." The apprentice seemed to speak in response to Kayd's thoughts, which, the sub-lieutenant realized, was a real possibility.

"First thing," Marius continued. "Stop trying to chat with me."

Delos looked puzzled.

"Small talk," Marius clarified. "I can't stand it. I'm trying to read. Never, _ever _interrupt me with banalities while I'm reading."

"Very well...my lord."

Without further comment, the apprentice picked up his datapad. Delos swiveled his chair to face the hyperdrive console, and then stopped. He swiveled back.

He was an Imperial officer, damn it. He was commissioned to use his brain and to bring some kind of value to this assignment, not to sit placidly in the corner doing tricks like a trained kath hound.

"If I might make a suggestion, Lord Marius," Delos began.

For a moment Marius simply regarded the sub-lieutenant over the top edge of the datapad. "Go on," he growled.

"We have eight more hours of hyperspace travel before we reach Nar Shaddaa," Kayd explained. "The cabin on this ship is small but private, and I think you may find it easier to read back there. I can remain on the bridge until we arrive in case any issues arise." He pointed towards the short, narrow corridor leading to the back of the ship. "If something does happen, you're just a few feet away." He hoped that was diplomatic enough.

Marius thought for a moment, then rose from the captain's chair and strode to the dimly-lit corridor. "Tell me if anything is out of order," he instructed.

"Of course, Lord Marius."

The apprentice paused before leaving the bridge as if he were going to say something, but then stepped wordlessly into the darkness.

Dyna,

You were right; I admit it. I've barely had time to sleep, let alone place a call. So I yield to your asynchronous letter-writing. I should have simply surrendered forthright. You're a psychiatrist, and my twin. Is there a more persuasive combination?

I must warn you that I haven't written anything but military reports in years. I'm not even sure where to begin.

We're currently in-transit to Nar Shadda, having just begun my new assignment with Darth Salire's apprentice. It's probably too early to say for certain, but I think you can tell Mother and The Captain to stop worrying about me being posted to a Sith's detail. Marius (that's the apprentice's name) seems levelheaded. A bit strict, but fair. He's a Pureblood, a few years younger than I am. I wish I had more to report, but he doesn't talk much.

I know what you're thinking, and no. For a non-human he's handsome, but I have no idea where his interests lie. More importantly, he's my superior, and it would just be a terrible idea to get involved with a Sith. It's difficult enough keeping my relationships secret without having to worry about a lover who could read my thoughts or choke me to death with his mind. Unlike the rest of our family, I don't seek drama.

Speaking of which, how is Adem? I haven't hear anything from him since the trimester began three weeks ago.

Love,

Delos

Delos encrypted the message and sent it via hyperwave transmission to his sister's personal account. He could send it to her government address, but the Outreach Bureau looked down on the use of their assets for personal purposes. Officers in the military had more leeway, perhaps because the Ministry of War was the most powerful and important of the Imperial ministries. There were rules that seemed excessively strict in every ministry, however—but if that was the price for a peaceful, orderly society, Delos was willing to pay it. So were all loyal citizens. Crime rates on the main Imperial worlds were the lowest in the galaxy.

At least that's what the state-controlled media reported. Delos checked the cockpit instruments. All good. He leaned back in his chair.

As a younger man, Delos had hoped to become a journalist, to travel the galaxy and learn the pure, objective truth of things. Money got in the way, of course. Careers in the arts and humanities were superfluous in the militaristic Empire, so colleges that taught those subjects were obscenely expensive.

Janus Kayd wouldn't pay for his son to receive "a coward's education," and Delos didn't score high enough on the entrance exams to earn a scholarship. Thus ended his fantasy of being a journalist.

Delos suspected that most dreams in the galaxy died not for lack of will, but lack of financing.

After he failed the exams, Captain Kayd expected his middle son to begin officer training right away. Instead, in an uncharacteristic display of rebelliousness, Delos joined the infantry. Both his father and mother were beside themselves. Janus was furious that his son had chosen a profession so far beneath the family legacy; Trilly was horrified because the infantry was incredibly dangerous. Enlisted men were usually from the lowest castes of Imperial society. They were easily recruited, rapidly trained, and quickly replaced. Expendable.

Delos survived, however. When he returned home after three years on the front lines, the Captain admitted that his middle son was not the sissy he had always feared him to be. Delos re-enlisted as an officer, just like the Captain always wanted. It wasn't journalism, but he still got to travel the galaxy.

_Nar Shaddaa, _thought the sub-lieutenant. He glanced at the dashboard again; still normal. _I've never been to a world controlled by aliens. I wonder if it's the cesspool the files claim it to be._ _So many cultures, thrown together in a tight space. What words did the report use? "Barely civlized. Unstructured violence and general crude behavior are commonplace." That was part of it. Also "Beware of pirates and __con-men__." _

Loud, angry beeping erupted from the dashboard. Delos surged from his chair and looked down at the instruments. Red-and-yellow warning text flashed across all the cockpit's screens.

[WARNING: GRAVITATIONAL ANOMALY DETECTED.]

"Rotten piece of slag!" Delos reached towards the ceiling. The navigation data showed a clear route when he calculated their path through hyperspace a few hours ago. They were now on that very same course, yet headed straight for something big—a rogue planet, or a comet. Whatever it was, he had to get them into realspace before they got too close. Massive objects ripped ships out of hyperspace with explosive results.

He found the large emergency lever and yanked it down.

The ship tumbled from hyperspace. The ship's intertia control systems should have kicked in upon the transition to realspace physics, but an unseen force acted against them. The caravel bucked and shuddered. Delos was thrown into the far wall of the bridge and fell to the floor. The ship's hull let out a long, painful moan.

Then, brief silence.

It was interrupted by heavy footsteps coming from the back of the ship. Delos looked up from where he was sprawled across the deck. Marius walked by without a word.

Delos rose from the floor stood beside him at the dash. The Sith had the sensor array powered up and was probing nearby space. "It was a gravitational warning, sir," the sub-lieutenant explained, straightening his uniform, "but the route was clear. There shouldn't be anything even remotely close to this location."

Marius remained focused on the sensor interface. "How current is the data?"

"Two weeks old, sir." The Sith looked down at Kayd, his yellow eyes narrowed. The sub-lieutenant raised his hands in defense. "It was the most current data available, Lord Marius. No one looks after the infrastructure out here."

"I suppose that's true." Marius turned back to the sensor readouts, and Delos breathed a noiseless sigh of relief.

"Nothing here," Marius concluded after a few seconds. "No asteroids, no rogue planets, no large ships." He turned from the dashboard and closed his eyes.

"What was it, then? An equipment malfunction?"

"Quiet. I'm listening."

It took Delos a moment to understand that the Sith was "listening" with the Force. The sub-lieutenant assumed parade rest, waiting patiently

Moments later, the apprentice's eyes flew open. "Take the helm," Marius commanded, sliding into a seat at the weapons position. He pulled the targeting interface down from the ceiling and powered up the ship's single laser cannon. "Get us back into hyperspace. Now."

Delos did as instructed. "It's going to take a minute for the computer to spool up a valid route," he warned.

"Then we just have to stay alive for one minute. Easy. You fly, I shoot," Marius responded.

"Shoot what?"

"The pirates," the apprentice said, just as three corsairs dropped into realspace.

"So it was a gravity mine, then," Delos spat. "They placed it right along the hyperspace route. Hoth's frozen tits."

"Shut up and fly, Kayd," Marius replied, but the ghost of a smile flashed across his face.

Both men hurriedly strapped themselves into their seats. Delos gripped the manual flight controls and shoved the ship into a nosedive, just as the corsairs opened fire.

The caravel was small and maneuverable, but it wasn't very fast in real space. Delos flew loops and corkscrews and nameless, twisted patterns in order to stay ahead of the pirates. They were getting closer, but they hadn't landed a shot. Yet.

Marius landed several hits with the laser cannon, but to little effect. "I could do more damage by pissing on them," the apprentice muttered.

"It's a courier-class ship, sir," Delos replied. He muscled the caravel into a hard left turn. "Great hyperdrive, but everything else is crap."

"Kayd," Marius growled.

"I know, I know. Shut up and fly."

Time ticked past, measured in heartbeats and adrenaline. "Hyperdrive status," Marius snapped.

Delos glanced at the helm displays. "Fifteen seconds." The lead corsair, an angular gray monstrosity spattered with white paint, surged forward until it trailed just behind their tiny vessel. Delos pulled the caravel's nose up at a ninety-degree angle, hoping the pirates would fly beneath them.

It wasn't enough. The corsair scored a hit which rocked the caravel, slamming the two men against their seat straps. Delos squeezed the accelerator and glanced fearfully at the hyperdrive display.

[ERROR. THE SYSTEM CANNOT BE FOUND.]

"They disabled the hyperdrive," Delos announced. Marius didn't respond.

Delos felt numb. The fight was over so quickly.

He gripped the accelerator mindlessly. The pirates might try to ransom them. His father would pay; it would be embarrassing, but Delos would live. He didn't know if Darth Salire would pay for Marius.

"Kayd, stop the ship. Let them come to us."

He obeyed before fully comprehending what the Sith said. The caravel gently floated to a halt. "Sir?"

"We are allowing ourselves to be captured."

The sub-lieutenant looked at Marius with concern. "My lord, there might be a hundred pirates on just one of those corsairs."

The Pureblood wore a hard expression. "No matter. As soon as I set foot on that ship, they'll all be as good as dead." His eyes shone a bright yellow.

Delos didn't know how to respond, so he checked the sensor data. He expected to see the three ships closing around them. Instead, he saw them disappear one by one, as each corsair jumped to hyperspace.

"Lord Marius...they're leaving."

"What?!" The Sith tore free of his seat straps and launched himself at the helm. Delos was still strapped into his seat, but Marius bent right over him and started examining the display.

The physical proximity was unnerving. Sub-Lieutant Kayd suddenly became aware of Marius as another being—not as a Sith, not as someone who could slaughter a hundred pirates with mystical powers, and not as his commander, but as another person who _chose _to exist in a certain way. This man chose solitude over conversation. He chose to keep his hair short and to wear traditional Sith attire even while in transit to Hutt space. Did that mean anything?

He also chose to wear cologne scented with desert thorntree. Did _that _mean anything?

No, no. He should _not_ be noticing things like that. Delos closed his eyes. _This is incredibly awkward and uncomfortable._

Marius withdrew a second later, leaving Kayd to once again wonder if the Sith had heard his thoughts. The sub-lieutenant unfastened the straps that held him upright, then swiveled his chair to face the center of the tiny bridge.

The apprentice stood behind the captain's seat, his hands resting on the back of the chair. "What do you know about gravity mines, Kayd?"

Delos buried his earlier feelings of discomfort. Duty called. "They're manufactured singularities. A specialized buoy holding a quantum compressor is placed somewhere along a hyperspace lane. When it's activated, the buoy essentially creates a black hole. The singularities are relatively small, but massive enough to tear a ship out of hyperspace."

"Such a device would need a large power source."

"There's one on the buoy, but it's only enough to sustain the singularity for a few hours. After the singularity collapses, the remaining matter from the buoy is consumed in a minor explosion."

"That's what pummeled the ship after we dropped from hyperspace?"

Delos nodded. "It's possible. It could have had sensors, and been rigged to explode as soon as a ship appeared nearby." He tugged at his ear. "Sir, these mines are expensive. Once a mine is activated, it only has a few hours of power. So you have to know when a ship is coming through. You have to have good coordination and reliable intelligence. That's why gravity mines are used to take out capital ships, not teensie caravels with sub-lieutenants and apprentices."

Marius stared.

"No offense, my lord," Delos added quickly.

"You said...what was that word?"

The sub-lieutenant frowned. "Teensie?"

"A human word?" When Kayd nodded assent, Marius gave a dry chuckle. "Ridiculous."

Delos kept his expression carefully neutral. "Yes, sir."

The Pureblood was instantly serious again. "You're saying that pirates generally wouldn't possess gravity mines, and if they did, they wouldn't waste it on a couple minor Imperial citizens." He looked pointedly at his subordinate. "You know where that leaves us."

"I wouldn't say you're a minor citizen, sir."

Marius smirked. "The flattery is noted and appreciated, but be realistic. I'm just an apprentice."

"So, either the pirates were inconceivably stupid for wasting a gravity mine on our little ship, or they were hired as assassins?"

"_Not _assassins," Marius corrected. "They disabled our hyperdrive, then left us alone. I believe they merely intended to prevent us from getting to our destination." He lifted his arms from the back of the captain's chair and folded them across his chest. "We're Darth Salire's representatives. Someone doesn't want us at Jurda the Hutt's festival, and they want her to know. It's a message. They left us alive so we could tell the Darth about the attack. "

"So what do we do?" Delos asked. "Our hyperdrive will need to be replaced. The nearest space station is three months away at sub-light speeds, but that's the fastest we can travel right now."

"Our mission hasn't changed," Marius replied. "We're going to Jurda the Hutt's festival. Send out a distress beacon."

Delos turned to the helm and entered a few commands. He turned back. "Done. I sent out the standard Imperial recording, but it may be a while before someone picks up the signal."

"We're right next to a hyperspace lane. Someone will come along."

"Should I send a message to the _Vanity?_"

"Send a text-only message. Tell them we were attacked in transit, that we suspect there may be a spy aboard the _Vanity, _and that I will contact the Darth when we arrive on Nar Shaddaa. Encrypt the message, sender and location data."

"That's all, sir?"

Marius sniffed. "I'm not sending back for help on my first solo mission. I'll starve to death out here first."


	7. You Only Live Once

Tensions rise as Marius and Delos Kayd wait for rescue.

* * *

><p><strong>3661 BBY<strong>

**Imperial date 1312.11.28**

Optimism prevailed for the first hour after Delos Kayd transmitted the distress signal, but after that, the mood in the undersized cabin started to corrode. The hours dragged on, sleepily; time itself seemed to nod off.

Waiting could dissolve morale like nothing else, but Delos had a lot of practice resisting its effects. Military service involved a long bouts of sitting around punctuated by intense periods of action. He was used to a "hurry up and wait" _modus operandi_.

Yet while Delos felt confident in his own ability to resist tedium, he was not so sure about Lord Marius. Sith usually didn't have to wait for anything.

At first, the Sith apprentice tried to meditate, sitting in the captain's chair as before. Then he gave up and tried reading again. Eventually, he surged from the chair, tossed the datapad to Kayd in disgust, and began wordlessly pacing along the walls. Delos thought the cockpit was cramped enough without the large man tramping to and fro, but he tried to ignore it. Sith warriors were rarely described as patient people, and Marius could have chosen worse methods of dealing with boredom.

_He probably will, if we don't get rescued soon. _It would be easier if the apprentice weren't so quiet and uptight; conversation would help pass the time. Excluding that, Delos simply hoped that Marius would stay calm and that they'd continue to get along.

The sub-lieutenant rubbed his eyes and tried again to focus on the datapad the Sith had flung at him. It was without a doubt one of the driest, most esoteric collections he'd ever seen written in Basic, containing titles like _Neuronics in Droid Programming _and _The Encyclopedia of Galactic Republic Infrastructure, Volume 1. _Drawn by the title, Delos had selected _Advanced Djem So_, but he had progressed through only five pages of the text since opening it a half hour ago. None of it made any sense to him, although the diagrams of lightsabers were fun to look at.

Delos set the datapad aside and glanced at the glowing dashboard readouts. "Five hours, sir," he reported, trying to stay positive. "Still nothing."

"We will be fine," came the terse reply from the back of the cockpit. "Some commerce or transport ship will come along in time. I know it."

"Does the Force tell you, sir?" It was an innocent question, but Delos turned to see burning yellow eyes glaring at him. Marius continued to stalk across the room, looking increasingly like a caged animal.

"Reason, Kayd. Deduction. We're in a fairly busy hyperspace lane."

The sub-lieutenant looked towards the floor deferentially. "Sorry, sir. I meant no offense. I was just curious."

"Do not ask me about the Force. You can't possibly understand."

"Of course." Delos swiveled back to face the viewscreen, propping up his chin with one hand. Gazing into the depths of space through the view screen, watching the stars slowly twirl past, he mindlessly started to tap a light rhythm on the dashboard.

Had it not been for the fact that their mission was in jeopardy, and there was an increasingly agitated Sith just a couple meters away, it would have been peaceful out here, floating in the Rim. Delos once heard an officer describe her trip to a local nebula. She and her fiance took a cruiser to the middle of the gaseous expanse and cut their engines, spending a day simply adrift in the colors. At the time, Delos though it was a terrible, boring idea for a date. Now, though, he could imagine it: a nice red blend, a handsome blond gentleman for company —

The thump of footsteps abruptly ceased. "Stop DOING that," Marius hissed.

Delos lifted his hands from the dash and turned to face his commander. Now Marius gave the impression of an enraged feline, back stiffened and hair raised. "I'm sorry sir...what was I doing?"

"You were tapping your _fingers _in time with _my boots."_

"I see." Delos stared at the floor again, nodding thoughtfully for a few seconds.

Marius finally broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. "You have an idea. Tell me."

"In the interest of self-preservation," Delos began, "I'd like to try something to speed up our rescue. We're currently sending out a standard Imperial distress signal. Maybe the ships coming through this area aren't interested in rescuing Imperials."

The Pureblood seemed to relax a bit. "Why?"

"Because there's no profit in it. I imagine many of the ships travelling this route are shady operations, just like the pirates who attacked us. They're not altruistic by nature, and since the Empire doesn't officially negotiate with kidnappers, they have no clear incentive to help us. My father would pay a nice sum as a private citizen, but our potential rescuers don't know that. And, no offense, but I'm not sure that Darth Salire would..."

Marius raised a hand, and Delos trailed off. "You suggest we offer a reward."

"Yes. I think 5,000 credits should do the trick. Do you have that much?"

"One of the benefits of being an apprentice for Darth Salire is unlimited credit."

Delos whistled. "You charge, she pays?" In response, Marius nodded once. "So if we get to Nar Shaddaa, can we buy a better ship?"

The Pureblood shrugged away the question. "If we must. We _will_ reach Nar Shaddaa; let me worry about how. Just record the new distress signal."

Something in the apprentice's tone made Delos' scalp prickle, but he didn't feel bold enough to press for more details. Instead, he checked the input levels on his headset's microphone. Life in the Empire was easier if you didn't ask questions.

Besides, that wasn't him anymore. Journalists questioned. Officers obeyed.

So instead of the pre-recorded blather they transmitted earlier, the new distress signal featured the distraught voice of one Sub-Lieutenant Delos Kayd, offering 5,000 Imperial credits if someone, _anyone, _would come rescue him and his commander —

"Injured. Tell them I'm injured," Marius interrupted.

The sub-lieutenant snapped microphone's off-switch with a hint of irritation. "Okay, but I'm going to have to record this all over again."

"So? Do it."

Delos sighed inwardly and snapped the microphone back on.

"...five thousand Imperial credits to the crew of any ship that offers aid to myself and my gravely injured commander. Please help us. You are our only hope." Delos choked off the last words in a strained, grief-stricken voice.

"A bit melodramatic," Marius commented dryly, once Delos stopped recording.

Frowning, the sub-lieutenant craned his neck to look at the towering apprentice, who hovered behind his shoulder. "Do you think it's too much?"

"Whoever hears this message will think you're a babbling coward."

The words were a bit too close to those once wielded by Captain Kayd. _Speak up, boy. We don't want anyone to think you're a sissy._

But Delos was far from the shy teenager he used to be. Ignoring the memories Marius' observation had stirred up, the sub-lieutenant responded without missing a beat. "That sounds like an easy rescue, sir."

"Indeed — or a tempting target. Either way, it will pique someone's interest."

* * *

><p><strong>Note<strong>

Inspiration for this installment of _Songs in Shadow_ goes to the eponymous song by the Strokes.


	8. Reptilia

Marius has a plan for dealing with their rescuers, but Delos disagrees.

**3661 BBY**

**Imperial date 1312.11.28**

A mere hour later, a quiet beep from the dashboard alerted Delos that a ship had dropped into nearby realspace. With his heart pounding, the sub-lieutenant dropped his feet from the dashboard and hunched over the panels to review the sensor readings.

Marius was at his side half a moment later. "What do we have, Kayd?"

Delos excitedly tapped a blinking yellow dot on one of the map displays. "This just dropped out of hyperspace, about a quarter AU from here. Very near."

The Pureblood leaned in for a closer look. Below the dot that represented the newly arrived ship, the screen displayed additional data estimating its size and model. "It appears to be a yacht of some kind. That's promising."

The comm system crackled to life, projecting an unfamiliar male voice into the cockpit. "Imperial caravel, do you copy?"

Delos snatched the comms headset dangling from a peg on the side of the viewscreen. He shot Marius a questioning look. "What do you want me to say?"

"Stick to our story," his commander responded without hesitation. "We were attacked by pirates, they found nothing of value, and your commander is injured. Try to get them to dock."

"You don't want them to just lock on a tractor beam and tow us to the nearest station?"

"No, I want to take their ship."

Kayd's heart started hammering harder. Things were moving too fast. "Sir, is that really necessary?"

Before the Sith could respond, the yacht's transmission came through the speakers. "Imperial caravel, do you copy? This is luxury transport _Spectrum_, responding to your distress signal."

Marius spoke with unexpected, yet forced, civility. "I don't need you to agree, Kayd. Just obey. Get them to set up an umbilical between the two ships, and I will take care of the rest. Now _respond._"

Delos reluctantly complied. "Transport _Spectrum, _this is Imperial caravel 344C5. Sub-lieutenant Delos Kayd speaking. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you out here." With raised eyebrows, he looked over at Marius, who nodded his approval.

"I'm sure you are," the voice agreed. "This is Corvan Nutine; _Spectrum'_s my ship. Now, I'm headed to Bitrienne Station. We can make it there in about ninety minutes with me towin' you. You ready for a tractor beam?"

Marius shook his head in silent disagreement. _"Medical attention,"_ he mouthed.

"Ah, negative on the tractor beam, _Spectrum,_" Delos continued, watching as the Sith pantomimed the words he wanted the sub-lieutenant to say. "We have a casualty here. My commander is in rough shape and we don't have any medical supplies left. Can you send some over first?"

Corvan gave an annoyed grunt. "He can't wait? We're kind of on a schedule."

Marius rolled his eyes, but Delos held up a finger to pacify him. "I think he could make it, but he's in a lot of pain."

"All right, all right," replied the voice from the other ship. "I'll bring over some supplies, but we gotta make it fast. Copy?"

"Copy that. We'll be quick_. _Thanks."

Delos muted his microphone and turned to Marius. "There you go, my lord. What next?"

A hallway connected the caravel's cockpit to its rear cabin. In absolute terms, the hallway was quite short, but it took up a good proportion of the small ship's overall length. In the hallway were two access ports, each leading to one of the ship's engine pods, and a hatch on the ceiling that connected to nothing but empty space.

Delos waited below this external hatch, listening for the series of sounds that would indicate that _Spectrum's_ umbilical passageway was locked against the caravel's hull. The plan, as Delos had learned in the few minutes since the luxury transport'slast transmission, was straightforward. All he had to do was open the hatch. After that, it was all up to Marius.

The sub-lieutenant glanced towards the end of the hallway. There, just in front of the cabin door, the apprentice stood with his eyes closed and arms crossed. Marius had removed his robe, revealing traditional Sith attire and a few pieces of undecorated body armor. The lightsaber displayed prominently on his belt was the man's only weapon.

Suppressing another wave of skepticism, Delos checked the blaster strapped to the inside of his flight jacket. All of his training and experience in the field told him that their plan made no sense, but — as Marius reminded him earlier — he had never worked closely with Sith before.

"Here it comes," Marius called from the back of the ship.

_Bump._

_Click-click-click-click._

_BANG._

A light next to the ceiling hatch turned from red to green. Delos pressed the transmit button on his headset. "_Spectrum,_ we have umbilical lock here. Can you confirm?"

"Confirm umbilical lock, sub-lieutenant." Delos heard Corvan speak in his headset. "Go ahead and open this hatch."

Delos pulled a lever on the wall, and the ceiling hatch slid open. He looked up to see a small box floating in the middle of a dimly lit steely tube, and behind it, an unfamiliar human male. Umbilicals were makeshift corridors that connected ships together, but they typically didn't have artificial gravity generators of their own. As long as the man remained in the umbilical, he'd be in a zero-gravity environment. Transitioning between zero-g and gravity, as all spacefarers knew, could be disconcerting.

"Sub-lieutenant Kayd?" asked the stranger in a familiar voice.

"Yes, that's me," Delos replied. He felt a little guilty about what they were about to do to this good samaritan. "You must be Corvan Nutine. Thank you for your help."

"Sure, well, that's what those 5000 credits are for," Corvan said gruffly. "You can pay me after we drop out of hyperspace near Bitrienne." He pushed the box forward towards the hatch. "Here are those medical supplies you asked for."

As it edged past the lip of the hull, the caravel's artificial gravity took hold of the box and dropped it right into Delos' waiting arms. "That should be all we need for now. Thanks again, Corvan."

Out of the corner of his eye, the sub-lieutenant saw Marius raise one hand, gloved fingers outstretched.

"No problem." The shipowner turned, preparing to traverse the umbilical corridor back to _Spectrum. _Marius clenched his hand into a fist and pulled it rapidly towards the floor.

Delos barely got out of the way as Corvan Nutine tumbled through the external hatch. The transport captain slammed into the floor face-first. Before he had a chance to recover from the impact, Delos darted in and took the man's blaster from the holster on his chest. Seeing a small communications device embedded in the man's ear, Delos removed that, too.

But Corvan didn't seem interested in fighting. Instead, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Shouldn't have bothered with Imperials," he muttered to himself. "Cash first, then service. That's the rule, Newt, you kriffin' lob."

"Cooperate, and we'll let you live." Delos spoke with conviction that he did not feel. In truth, he had no doubt that Corvan Nutine would die as soon as _Spectrum_ was secure. Marius would kill him outright or order Kayd to execute him.

Delos had never been ordered to shoot a civilian in cold blood before, but he had killed many of them on the field. Sometimes they were collateral damage, and sometimes they weren't — it depended on the Empire's objectives for each situation. Was there a moral difference between taking out civilians in combat situations and shooting a captured man in the back of the head? Maybe, but it wasn't his place to decide. Perhaps he could worry about such things when he got a few more pins on his collar.

Corvan, now sitting, leaned wearily against the wall. "Listen, Kayd." The man spoke with a curious accent that Delos couldn't place; some of the the _r _sounds became _eh_ sounds: "Whatever you think you're gonna pull here, it isn't gonna work. You won't be able to pilot my ship, simple as that."

"We shall see," Marius boomed, approaching from the back of the hall.

Corvan swore. "Sith? Aw, blast me. You're Sith. _Hells._"

"Watch him closely, sub-lieutenant." In one fluid motion, Marius crouched below the external hatch and shot into the umbilical. The inertia of his supernatural leap carried him rapidly towards _Spectrum's _sleek hull.

"Hey! Listen!" Corvan suddenly scrambled forward, shouting after the Sith apprentice. "The system's encrypted! You won't be able to fly it without help! Do you hear me? _You'll need us!_"

Delos pressed a boot against the man's shoulder and shoved him back against the wall. "Just stay there, Nutine. Don't say anything."

* * *

><p><strong>Note<strong>

"Reptilia" is a song by the Strokes. The line "I said please don't slow me down / if I'm going too fast" is featured frequently in the lyrics, and to me it echoes how Marius responds to Delos' hesitation about taking over _Spectrum_.


End file.
